Half The Time We're Gone But We Don't Know Where
by TheFoolontheHill301
Summary: Follow the world famous bassist Jasper Tagg as he tells his story of fame and rock stardom. Takes place in 1975. Purely fictional, all characters belong to me.
1. The Reference Section is a Magical Place

I'd like to start off my tale by saying this – never underestimate the power of reference books. The reference section of the library is a magical place. Let me tell you, for example, that at this very moment I have an encyclopedia open on my lap. It happens to be open to the page explaining the past decades in history. Seeing as this book was released about two years ago, the 1960's is the most recent section in this chapter. There is an amazing amount of information about the 1960's here….most of which I didn't even know. That's no surprise to me though. As much as I traveled the world through the sixties, I could have been living under a rock for all the things I missed. Anyway, here's what it says at the top:

**The 1960s** decade refers to the years from the beginning of 1960 to the end of 1969.The term also refers to an era more often called **The Sixties**, denoting the complex of inter-related cultural and political trends which occurred roughly during the years 1956–1972 in the west, particularly United States, Britain, France, Canada, Australia, Spain, Italy, and West Germany. Social and political upheaval was not limited to these countries, but included such nations as Japan, Mexico, and others. In the United States, The Sixties as they are known in popular culture today lasted from about 1963 to 1973. The term is used descriptively by historians, journalists, and other objective academics; nostalgically by those who participated in the counter-culture and social revolution; and pejoratively by those who perceive the era as one of irresponsible excess and flamboyance. The decade was also labeled the Swinging Sixties because of the libertine attitudes that emerged during this decade. Rampant drug use has become inextricably associated with the counter-culture of the era, as Jefferson Airplane co-founder Paul Kantner mentions: "If you can remember anything about the sixties, you weren't really there."

The 1960s have become synonymous with all the new, exciting, radical, and subversive events and trends of the period, which continued to develop in the 1970s, 1980s, 1990s and beyond. In Africa the 1960s was a period of radical political change as countries gained independence from their European colonial rulers, only for this rule to be replaced in many cases by civil war or corrupt dictatorships.

Some commentators have seen in this era a classical Jungian nightmare cycle as a rigid culture, unable to contain the demands for greater individual freedom, broke free of the social constraints of the previous age through extreme deviation from the norm. Booker charts the rise, success, fall/nightmare and explosion in the London scene of the 1960s. This does not alone however explain the mass nature of the phenomenon.

Several Western governments turned to the left in the early 1960s. In the United States President John F. Kennedy was elected as president. Italy formed its first left-of-centre government in March 1962 with a coalition of Christian Democrats, Social Democrats, and moderate Republicans. Socialists joined the ruling block in December 1963. In Britain, the Labour Party gained power in 1964.

So, I think basically, this encyclopedia is not in favor of the sixties. I agree with Paul Kantner though. And why wouldn't I? He's a smart man and a brilliant guitarist. For those of you who don't understand his quote, however, I'll explain. Most people, including myself, were out of their minds on drugs back then. It made the world a hell of a lot more interesting, though, I have to admit.

I'd imagine most people over the age of thirty two at the time did not fully understand the behavior of the world at that time. I think they were mostly in the dark. I pity them. They weren't the teenagers or the younger generations who were out partying and living he lifestyle. They weren't the older folks who were engrossed with politics and the like. They were the ones who were worried about keeping their kids in line, and making a good living, which was nearly impossible. They were the ones who were more oblivious to the world than anyone else, though they were convinced they knew everything. And even the people who were in the business – the music business that is – at that age…they still had no idea. The musicians – little bastards as we were – made sure that our producers and managers stayed the hell out of our business. They were the know-it-alls. They were so sure they had a handle on us that they let us run free.

Mistake number one.

Then there were the time when, ok, they kept us on a short leash. And they kept us working. And they still thought they were in control. But when we were taking a break in the studio smoking weed and shooting heroin, they didn't do a thing. They passed it off as us trying to "fit in" as it were. Well, let me tell you. We were the rock stars; the musical prodigies. We were never going to fit in.

Mistake number two.

After we had our fun, written a few songs, released a few records, then the tours started coming it. The phones started ringing. And when they start ringing, they never stop. Once the career kicks off, it really kicks off. There's no going back. Because once you live the life of fame and you try to go back to a normal life, you don't know what to do. Your life feels like it's missing something, something big. Music, fame…it becomes a drug that you are stuck on. You need it in order to survive and if you don't have it you go crazy from lack of things to occupy your time. Most people drink a whole lot or go back on drugs when they stop touring to take up their time. You see where it gets them. Which brings me to my last mistake the producers make – money. We play, we make money, they _give it to us_. Who would do something so stupid? We're basically a bunch of ten year old kids in adults bodies and you're feeding us millions of dollars a year so we can what? Buy a mansion to sit on the floor in and snort cocaine?

Mistake number three.

Three strikes you're out.

Anyone born after 1971 was lucky. You missed the revolution. Your life was spared. Sometimes, I wish I was born twenty years later. I like to think what my life would've been like without all the…_sixties_. It must've been nice. My other self that lives in an alternate universe, where there was no music, no fame, was one lucky bastard. People like me don't get enjoyment out of life. We're lucky if we survive.

My name is Jasper Tagg and this is my story. Sit back and relax, because you're in for one hell of a ride.


	2. Apparently Everyone Could Hear Us

So I suppose you've caught on by now – I'm a musician. I mainly play the bass guitar in a band called Harlem and Crawford. I'm sure you've heard of us. We were huge starting around 1964. We toured all over the world right along side the Rolling Stones and- Maybe I should start from the beginning. That might be easier to comprehend.

My name is Jasper Frederic Tagglioffaro and I am twenty seven years old. I'm English and a bit of Italian. My dad's great-great grandmother was Italian. She moved to England in 1895. She married an Englishman then they got divorced so she used her maiden name. So her son got married to an English bird and so on and so on. And then they had me. I was born in Central London in 1949. I lived with my parents Nathan and Claudia and when I was nine they had another kid, my baby sister Sophia. We were a pretty average family. My dad was a lawyer and my mum didn't work. She stayed at home with us. I was an ok student in elementary school. I got average grades and didn't get in trouble much. I never really paid much attention to music until middle school. In the eighth grade was the first time I heard rock music. The Beatles had just released 'Love Me Do' and it was playing on the radio like crazy. I was only fourteen and at the time I thought it was the coolest thing in the world. I didn't know it, but I was beginning my 'rebel' phase. I started cutting class and talking back to my parents – all that stuff you never want your kids to do. And I grew my hair, which was sacrilege in 1962. Music at the time was the ultimate form of rebellion, so I went to the music shop and tried to buy a guitar. No cigar. So I tried to steal one. I got caught. Finally, my neighbor, who heard about me nearly being sent to jail for lifting a Fender, offered me his old bass guitar.

I taught myself to play. I didn't think I was very good, but I bought a book and taught myself. I worked every day until my mother eventually told me I had to practice outside. And after about a year, I got a job and bought a tiny amp. I was all set. My neighbors, including the one who gave me the guitar, all hated me. That bass was the downfall on the neighborhood. No one wanted to move there anymore. I felt oddly alone in the world. About a month after I bought my amplifier, I was walking to work when I saw this kid carrying a guitar. I stopped him, asked if it was indeed a guitar and he started going on and on about how it was a 1958 Fender Telecaster with a black finish…blah blah blah. I could tell he was a total show off, but it didn't matter. I finally had someone to share my love of music with. I asked him if he would jam with me. His name was Benjamin Caller. Because my mum wouldn't let me play in the house, we played we played for hours and hours in the basement of his mum's house – mostly covers of old blues tunes. By March we decided we wanted to seriously start a band. We found a drummer, Carl Mannie, and started practicing and playing clubs and stuff. We had one particular show at the Beat Club. I'll never forget it because that's where I met Charlie.

Charles Randall Benich is one of the scariest people you will ever meet. He's five feet and ten inches of red hair, freckles, and a nasty attitude. I was more forced to be in his band then asked to be. He said he "liked my bass playing" and he was "going to make me so famous my mother would shit chickens". Nice guy right? So he told me his plan that night at the bar – we were going to start a band and audition for Decca records. Decca had recently signed the Animals and the Four Aces and you know, for a fifteen year old kid, I was ready to believe anything. I ditched Ben and Carl and jumped right on board with Charlie.

The kid was weird. Well…he wasn't much of a kid anymore. He was twenty one and living with his girlfriend, Marianne, in southern Liverpool. He had moved there from Virginia in America a few years back. He had no direction for his life, no schooling, no nothing – accept his love for music. It was an obsession. All he ever wanted was to start the perfect band and go on the road. After all the famous bands started coming from England, he and his girl moved here and began searching. He didn't seem to care that I was so young. His only concert was that I could play, and I _could_ play. I could play real good. So his next mission was a drummer.

Charlie was a guitarist. He also sang lead. That's what he declared, and I never questioned it. Not once. Eventually, he would give up guitar in the band. I didn't question that either. Charlie was a mad man. It was better to leave him alone when he made a personal decision. It was better to leave him alone when he made any decision. Charlie was good at winning fights (and starting them), weather they be verbal or physical. They were usually physical. He was also very good at completing a mission. Charlie could to anything he set his mind to – or his fist. Within a month of us jamming together he found us a brilliant drummer – Samuel Deaton.

Sammy was, and still is, the complete opposite of Charlie and me. He's small, whiny, and slightly pathetic. But he's a hell of a drummer. Sam's about five foot ten inches of pure rainbows and sunshine. You can't help but go "awwwwww" every time you see him. He's three years older than me, but I feel a lot of times he's like my younger brother. He had a pretty tough life at home, so he's a lot like family to me and Charlie. After we found Sam, we started practicing like crazy. By my sixteenth birthday we were playing in local clubs every night and making almost no money with it. After a show in Soho one night, Charlie decided the next morning we'd try out at Decca.

Dick Rowe, an A&R and Decca at the time, met us at seven o'clock the next morning. Turns out he'd gotten word from a couple of his friends that we had a good sound. When we got there, we met two young guys that were in a band already signed to Decca named Mick and Brian. We soon found out they were in a band called the Rolling Stones. Brian didn't seem to like me much at first, seeing as I looked a quite bit like him, but Mick was a nice enough guy – they both walked around like they owned the place. That's what surprised us. We had been so respectful the whole day, not wanting to screw anything up or upset anyone. These guys were loud, obnoxious, played horrible rock and roll, and drank and smoked as much as they want. We could barely believe it. Dick told us they were worth the trouble though. I could never see why – maybe because we behaved just like them back then.

Our audition took a little over an hour. We played about fifteen songs, including three by Muddy Waters and one from the Beatles. After our audition, our new friends, and possible record mates, took us out to lunch.

I'd never seen such madness in my life up to that point. They drank, a lot. The quietest of the group was Charlie Watts. He barely said a word all night, and the little he did say made him sound like a brain surgeon next to his band mates. Brian Jones was very sophisticated too though. His outlook on life was very unique. He studied very usual things with extreme depth. I found it very confusing at the time, but now I realize just how intriguing Brian really was. Mick and Keith were animals. They were loud, commanding, destructive, and very amusing. They scared the shit out of poor Sam though. Bill Wyman was an awkward fellow. I never really talked to him much, and he seemed to like to keep with his people. Z

So the day and night went on. We got drunk, barely ate, and ended up being kicked out by the owner of the restaurant because, apparently, everyone could hear us from our private room in the back. I woke up next morning with the nastiest headache I'd ever had to the phone ringing in my face. I picked it up before mum could. It was Charlie saying we'd passed the audition. Our first record was due in a month.


	3. Charlie Didn’t Care that I had a Life

Every morning was brutal. Even though I was starting to live the "real rock star lifestyle" as Mick kept referring to it as, I was still in the tenth year. I had to get up at 5:30, get ready for school, create some excuse for my mum why I had to stay after class, then leave and go straight to the studio to record. Charlie didn't care that I had a life besides the band. Him and Sam together were sort of like my abusive girlfriend. Sam would guilt me into doing stuff by going like "you don't love us, Jassy?" and Charlie would bitch at me until he got his way. God, I felt like I was married already. And I was only sixteen!

One night, I just couldn't take it anymore. "I can't do this!" I shouted and threw my bass on the floor with a _clang_! "This is ridiculous. You know I haven't gotten any sleep in days? I feel like my eyes are going to sly out of their fing sockets!" I crossed the room and plopped into a chair at the far end of the studio. "What are you doin, Jazz?!" Charlie shouted from the corner where he and Sam were still rehearsing. "Get back over here and finish up. Stop bein' such a baby-" "I'm not a baby!" I shouted back. And then something occurred to me. "Wait. Yes. Yes I am a baby. Babies need food, and sleep! If I told you I was a baby, then could I take a nap?" Sam giggled and Charlie growled at me. "I think Jasper's right," Dick said, quickly walking into the studio. "He's just a kid, Charlie. Cut him some slack." Charlie frowned. Sam stood slowly and tiptoed to the piano, sitting behind it and conveniently hiding himself from view. "I don't care if he's a kid," Charlie started, standing up to try and look more threatening. "He made a commitment to this band. If he wants to stay in it then he has to work for it."

At that moment, I did one of the smartest things in my young life – I considered quitting the band. The really smart thing would have been if I actually had done it. Unfortunately, I didn't, for that would make for a very short and disappointing story. Yes, my guilt got the better of me that day and I stayed. What's more, I took stupidity to a whole new level by making a decision that ruined my life forever.

"I'll drop out of school then," I said quickly. Three pairs of eyes all landed on me. "You can't drop out of school, Jassy…" Sam's voice floated quietly from the corner and I saw a head of dark hair and a pair of ice blue eyes peaking over the top of the piano. "Where will you live?" "I'll live with Charlie!" I said, finally crossing the room again to stand with the others. "Fk you will," Charlie growled. "No way me and Mare are gonna let you stay with us." I blinked. "If you two broke up, and she moved out, then could I live with you?" Charlie wasn't amused. "No. There is no way you could ever live with me," he said flatly. "Fine!" I scoffed. "I'll live with Sam then-" "No!" Sam protested hastily. "Mum would definitely not want to take care of you too." "I don't need to be taken care of," I snapped. "I just read a place to crash until-" "Until what?" Dick interrupted. "Jas, you're sixteen. You can't get job, you can't feed yourself, you probably can't even do your own laundry." I was about to argue when Charlie butted in again. "That's what you're for Dick," he said, slapping the older man on the back. Dick gave him a sour look and opened his mouth, no doubt, to say he wasn't going to allow me to stay with him, but Charlie began speaking again. "You signed us," he said with a smile. "All we have to do is make more records, play some shows, get more money…then Jas can pay people to do all that stuff for him." That's right. If we kept with the band thing, and ran it right, then I could make a whole lot of money and get my own place. "Listen, boys, I'm not your manager," Dick said, moving away from Charlie. "I'm not going to book you gigs, or arrange your records for you. You need to get a manager and a producer to do that." We all stared at him in silence. He sighed. "I might know a guy…" We all grinned sheepishly at him. So we were going to make the band even more famous. Great. Only that didn't solve my problem.

If I was really going to drop out of school, then where was I going to live? And how would my mom take it?


End file.
